


Unchained

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Ash & Antlers [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Asexual Hannibal, Asexual Will, Come Eating, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Consent, Fairy Tale Elements, Gray Asexuality, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Naked Cuddling, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Wendigo Hannibal, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Hannibal is learning to embrace his feral nature, to follow the instincts of the beast. Will actively encourages him because, if nothing else, he's always been a good pack leader. But his motivations aren't entirely unselfish--living with a wendigo has pleasurable fringe benefits, after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here is part three! If you're finding this series for the first time, I highly suggest reading parts one and two. You'll be a bit lost otherwise.
> 
> This was written for both [Hannigram Acethetic](http://hannigramacethetic.tumblr.com/)'s [#FrightBite](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/HannigramAcethetic_FrightBite) and [Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive](http://http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/)'s [#ThePumpkinIsPeople](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/HanniCreative_ThePumpkinIsPeople). I'm a really big fan of Halloween; I can't help but keep writing fic for it. Speaking of, this fic is complete; chapter two will post tomorrow.
> 
> [Llewcie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie/works) betaed this. She also prodded me with an encouragement stick when I got grumpy.

_ “Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” _

_ \--Stephen King _

 

Having a wendigo around the house isn’t all that different from having a dog, Will’s decided, though he has dogs now, as well. Hannibal brought home the first during the middle of Will’s convalescence, a poor shaggy puppy who, upon being given a proper bath, was a mess of chocolate brown curls with ears too big for its body.

“He reminds me of you,” Hannibal told him, and Will had glared. “The resemblance is striking, you must admit.”

Will sighed; he wasn’t going to win this. “What should we name him?” he asked, lap full of wiggling, wagging dog.

“I already have.”

“No.”

“Encephalitis,” said Hannibal, straight-faced, serious.

_ “No.” _

Hannibal suggested, “Ceph for short, perhaps?”

“...Fine.”

Will found the second dog completely by accident. Once Hannibal determined Will well enough to protect himself should he wander around outside unsupervised, Will declared he was going for a long walk. It was how Will discovered that they were living underground in the middle of a lovely, verdant forest. Hearing a stream, Will headed straight for it, and that was where he found a grizzled old border collie.

“I think he got separated from his flock,” Will explained to Hannibal, “and must not have cared much about finding his way home.”

“I assume you’ve named him.”

Will grinned. “Franklyn.”

“...No.”

Ceph had yet to grow into her ears; when Will took her and Francas outside to mark their territory and stroll with him through the woods, she always tripped over them. Francas would scruff Ceph with his teeth and set her back on her feet, Ceph would yip at him happily, and then they moved on.

At first, Hannibal would decline the invitation to accompany them, telling Will that it was important for them both to have time alone, which it was. Will could throw sticks for his dogs and not have Hannibal unintentionally critique his form. Francas could throw himself in the stream and snap at trout unimpeded. Ceph could poop on top of the moss-covered trap door to their underground lair and Will wouldn’t have to pick it up and move it somewhere else.

And then came the afternoon where the wendigo joined them.

Will hadn’t even heard him coming through the trees and leaves and underbrush. He was watching Francas chase the stick and Ceph chase Francas when the wendigo made itself known with a hand on Will’s shoulder. After taking a deep breath to hide how startled he’d been, Will had reached up and placed a hand over his, and they’d stood there in comfortable silence until it was time to go back inside.

“Do you think of me as Hannibal when I become the wendigo?” Hannibal asked him soon after.

“Yes,” replied Will, “I know you are one and the same. At the same time, I feel like I should call you something different to differentiate Hannibal-the-person from Hannibal-the-wendigo. It’s hard to explain.”

Hannibal nodded and said, “I am sure you will come up with a suitable name for me,” as if he was simply another member of Will’s small pack.

Strangely enough, that’s exactly what the wendigo’s become.

Ceph was the first to accept the wendigo as another, stranger, taller dog. She’d sniffed him for a full five seconds before deciding he was a friend. Francas had taken much longer to play nice. The first few days, when the wendigo did nothing more than stand awkwardly by Will, Francas would come over, scruff Ceph, and carry her off into the trees. Toward the end of the second week, the wendigo took to sitting by Will’s feet, which completely baffled Will. Francas, however, was much less hesitant after that, and allowed Ceph to climb all over the wendigo as she pleased.

Will absentmindedly reached out and stroked one of the wendigo’s ashen antlers one day. He began to apologize and pull away, and then he started purring. Later, when Will threw a stick for the dogs, the wendigo had bounded off after it, too. Reaching it before Francas, he and the wendigo had growled at each other. “Ripper!” Will called. “Down!”

The wendigo looked up at him. He blinked, and his black eyes swirled to silver.  _ Not red, _ Will thought.  _ Probably ought to ask about that at some point. _

“Here, Ripper,” said Will cautiously. Ripper apparently approved of his new name, because he came back, handed Will the stick, and then stared at him expectantly. Will hesitated, then took it from him. Quietly, he said, “Thank you. Not just for the stick.”

Ripper cocked his head, silver eyes gleaming in the sunlight.

“For trusting me enough to run wild.”

They did nothing more than look at each other for a few long minutes; Will felt as though he was being appraised. He watched, mesmerized, as Ripper’s eyes began to glow gold. Francas and Ceph lost interest in the game and went down to the stream to play, leaving their master transfixed.

And then Ripper tackled Will to the ground. Will’s upper arms were pinned beneath Ripper’s enormous clawed hands, and he could hear as the fingers broke through the layer of damp leaves and into the earth that laid beneath. Steam poured from the wendigo’s nostrils, his breath iron-hot in the cool forest air. Ripper’s arms were extended, unnaturally long, and he loomed over Will on his knees, curved spine accentuating his sunken stomach and flat, empty groin. He tucked his chin in toward his chest until Will could see nothing but antlers.

_ This is it, _ thought Will,  _ I’ve run out of lives. I’m going to die here, gored to death by a mythical creature. _ But he didn’t close his eyes; if this was his ultimate fate, then Will intended to meet it head on. He braced himself, and prepared for the impact, wondering if Ripper would shift to Hannibal at the end so as to hold Will as he bled out into the dirt.

Instead of killing him, however, Ripper did as Hannibal had so many times before--he lowered his nose to Will’s neck, just above the collar of his flannel shirt, and smelled him. Will wasn’t sure what to do--he was still more than a little terrified--but he opted for running his hands down the wendigo’s flank. “Easy, boy,” he said, voice calmer than he felt. “Take it easy.”

They stayed there like that long enough for Ceph to come bounding back; she stopped to sniff at Will’s shoe to make sure he was okay. Francas lumbered over, took one look at Ripper on top of Will, and promptly walked off to the nearest tree. He peed on it, staring at the wendigo grumpily all the while.

Will shook his head. “C’mon, guys. Head home.” He tapped Ripper on both sides of his ribcage. “You, too, boy. Time to go back.”

Ripper sat up, as if he was just now realizing what he’d done, that he’d knocked Will to the forest floor in order to scent him like a beast making claim. It was the most Hannibal-esque reaction the wendigo’d had since that first time back on the beach, or the night Will was held in a bony embrace in their nest.

Ripper bolted off into the woods, leaving Will and the rest of the pack far behind.

 

* * *

 

Dinnertime rolls around, and still no sign of Hannibal. He misses the pack huddle in front of the fire. For the first time since Will woke up here, Hannibal doesn’t wrap him up in his lap, in his arms, and Feed from Will.

“You seem to enjoy it most when I Feed from your neck,” Hannibal observed one night while Will sat squirming in his lap.

“To be-- _ oh, _ that feels good--honest, I like it--fuck…” It was hard to concentrate as Hannibal sucked a mark into Will’s skin just under his jaw, his nose nestled behind Will’s ear so he could smell his hair. Will could feel Hannibal draw energy right out of him everywhere they touched, but it was strongest here, where Hannibal concentrated most.

Hannibal bit as he withdrew. “Did you read many vampire stories as a child?” he asked, smirking against the side of Will’s neck.

Will bit his lip to stifle a moan as Hannibal set back to Feeding from him. “Yeah,” said Will, breathless. “L--like it everywhere, but…” Will sighed, dropping his head back to rest on Hannibal’s bare shoulder; his scalp tingled as Hannibal’s skin Fed from it. “‘Specially there. Sensitive.”

So Hannibal would mark up Will’s neck, leave him mottled with purple-black bruises, letting Will grow limp and insensate. Eventually, Hannibal would carry him up to the nest and lie on his side, propping Will up against him, sleepy and smiling. He’d heal his neck, then continue leisurely Feeding from him off and on until they both passed out. It’s the best, most consistent sleep Will’s had in his entire life.

Sometimes, afterward, Will grows aroused, thinking of the previous Feeding. Will disappears to take care of it, stroking himself while he touches his neck, remembering the sensation of Hannibal’s mouth against his skin. Will’s often thought of asking Hannibal to play with him as he Feeds, in any way Hannibal would like, but he always ends up being too scared to ask, afraid that it will dissuade Hannibal from Feeding from him, at all.

But Will thinks about it when he comes hot and thick into his hand in the morning when he masturbates in the en suite. Likewise, Will’s certain he isn’t imagining Hannibal’s deep inhale once he exits.

He’s loathe to go up to the nest without Hannibal; Will’s tempted to curl up with Ceph and Francas in the floor, but he knows he won’t find rest there, either. Instead, Will opts for a cup of hot tea in Hannibal’s favorite teacup. Whether he drinks from it out of petulance or worry or a need to be close to Hannibal in any way possible, Will can’t say.

The stars are especially bright tonight--those he can see through the canopy of the forest, at least. Hannibal’s laid with him outside before, named each one for him. They talk about their childhoods often on those nights. Will finally told him about his encounter with the old voodoo queen, and Hannibal has begun to open up about his Turning. “Mischa changed me,” Hannibal said. “I did not understand how for a long time,” though he has yet to explain what happened.

Will sips his tea, and watches Orion chase the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, chapter two of the ridiculously fluffy cannibals.

He wakes up in his pajamas, wrapped up in Hannibal’s arms and legs. Will’s relief is deeply felt, but so is his frustration, his irritation.

“I apologize,” Hannibal whispers into Will’s hair before he can speak. “I was embarrassed and needed time to reflect.”

“You could have said something.”

“Not changed as I was.”

Will sighs, because Hannibal has a point, though, “You could’ve shifted in front of me.”

Hannibal holds him more tightly. “I know. I am not ready to, however. The change is...gruesome.”

“So am I,” he replies with a derisive snort. “I don’t mind.” Will turns in his arms; it’s difficult, given the octopus-like hold Hannibal has on him, but Will manages. Hannibal looks appropriately contrite, not to mention much older, weak and tired. Will’s astonished by how greatly he wants Hannibal to Feed from him. It’s like Will has an overwhelming amount of energy for this time of day; he longs to feel the bone-deep exhaustion, to have Hannibal care for him through his recovery.

Finally, Hannibal tells him, “I did not expect to be tamed so quickly and thoroughly by you.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” says Will, smiling. “We’re allowed to be tame for each other; I know you’re a wild, vicious thing, love.” Hannibal’s breath catches at that--Will doesn’t call him by endearments often; it isn’t in his nature. “You tame me every night,” he reminds him, “and I let you gladly. I crave that tenderness, Hannibal. You’re allowed to enjoy letting go in turn, whatever that means.”

“I worry you will think less of me for embracing my ferality, my animalistic traits. It pains me to wonder how accepted I am, if that will extend to my rolling around in the mud with the dogs and enjoying a game of fetch.” Hannibal pauses. “I would not participate in such activities as a human.”

“But the wendigo isn’t human. I know that.” Will kisses him in reassurance; Hannibal tastes of salt and blood, and Will pulls away quickly. “You’ve already eaten. Did you Hunt?”

“A stag, yes.” Hannibal seems confused. “This bothers you?”

Will frowns, hurt. “Of  _ course _ it bothers me. I wasn’t able to agree with you properly that night you held me as the wendigo--do you remember?” Hannibal nods, slowly. “You said you might keep me like that, and I was a little out of my mind, but I would do that. Not just for you, but for me. My brain shuts off, and I feel so close to you, and I…” Will clings to Hannibal and closes his eyes. He’s overcome by the strangest devastation; his emotions run out of control now, too, like Hannibal’s, but Will doesn’t bear societal shame for them any longer. “Hannibal, please,” says Will, voice breaking. “Please. If you Hunt, take me with you. Fill the kitchen and our table with whatever you like, but please, don’t stop Feeding from me. Promise me.”

When Will opens his eyes, Hannibal is staring at him with a mixture of shock and longing. “How long today?” he asks. “Allow me to make it up to you. However long you want, until I’m weighed down with you, until neither of us can hardly move. Anything.”

“I don’t care. A day. A week. Forever.”

Hannibal nods and pecks Will on the lips, agreement sealed. “A week, then. And after, once we’ve recovered, you will Hunt with me.”

_ Now, _ Will thinks,  _ now is the time to ask, when Hannibal is most amenable to requests. _ “One thing more.”

“Anything, darling. I told you anything.”

Still, Will feels hesitant, and averts his eyes. “I told you my attraction to you wasn’t sexual--it still isn’t. I’ve never felt the urge to have sex with anyone, though I have, but--” He bites his lip.

Hannibal lifts Will’s chin, coaxes him to look up. His eyes are warm as honey, and Will is reminded of the forest, of lying beneath him there in the leaves. “What do you want, Will?”

“Touch me,” says Will, breathless. “Play with my body as you Feed. Overwhelm me with sensation. Use me as you like.”

Moaning helplessly, Hannibal takes Will’s mouth in a deep, searching kiss, like he can taste the truth on Will’s tongue. He breaks it, both panting, asks against Will’s lips, “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” Will sucks on Hannibal’s bottom lip, tugs on it until Hannibal begins to kiss him again. Much to his displeasure, Hannibal backs off again.

“I have no desire to fuck you,” and Will groans at that. Hannibal’s voice sounds illicit around the filth.

“That’s fine, it’s fine,” Will assured, “it doesn’t particularly interest me, anyway--but if you  _ want _ to, you can.”

“Once more,” he demands, and Will practically growls in impatience, making Hannibal grin affectionately. “Tell me once more that for a week, your body is mine.”

“Will you shut up and Feed already?” And Hannibal does, seals their lips together and begins to breathe Will’s life into his own body. It doesn’t feel the way Will is used to now, and he wonders if it’s because they skipped a Feeding, if his body has truly become so accustomed and attuned to sustaining Hannibal. Whatever the reason, Will still has the wherewithal to untie and push his pajama bottoms down over his ass, folding his legs up one at a time to take the flannel pants off the rest of the way, though they get stuck on his ankles.

He’s struggling with his long-sleeved tee, because his lips are gradually starting to feel tingly, and Hannibal laughs into his mouth. “Patience, love,” he says. “Pull your pajamas back up; I’ll unwrap you when I’m ready. Or have you already forgotten that you’ve given yourself to me?”

Will rolls his eyes and finally gets his pants over his ankles and feet. Let Hannibal undress him another time; Will needs him  _ now. _ He shifts Hannibal over to lie on his back, looming over him the way Ripper had the prior afternoon. Will leans down to kiss him again, urgent and needy, waits for the pull of energy to make him too feeble to hold his own weight.

Hannibal lets him, then helps Will to lower himself to Hannibal’s chest as his strength begins to leave him. Will is certain it took longer than usual, and that’s unacceptable. “No more missed Feedings,” he says as Hannibal switches their positions. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Hannibal undresses.

“I smell your spend in the air when you leave the en suite every morning,” Hannibal admits while Will is still lucid. “When I stroke myself to completion while you are downstairs making coffee, I ache to consume you in that, as well. I yearn to lie beside you, or sit next to you, both of us fucking into our fists--”

“Shit, Hannibal,” Will says, voice low, “you sound positively  _ lurid _ when you curse.”

But Hannibal continues as though uninterrupted. “--Kissing, coming together, holding you close as I lick you from your own hand.”

Will chuckles in disbelief; his own cock is twitching at the idea. Leave it to Hannibal to know the wants and needs of his body more than Will does. “Long as you don’t expect me to return the favor.”

“I don’t.”

“And--and no fellatio, okay? It kind of...it weirds me out. Not just because you’ve probably literally eaten someone’s dick before, either,” he quickly adds, and Hannibal’s mouth quirks in amusement. “Masturbating together sounds nice, though. And I can put up with some hand licking, I guess.”

“I hate to think of any part of you going to waste, Will.”

“Of course you do,” he says, shaking his head. “You ridiculous, ridiculous man.”

Hannibal smirks, then begins to take off Will’s shirt. Soon enough, they’re both nude, and Will is being happily pressed down into the softness of the mattress. He and Hannibal are both half-hard, cocks pressed alongside each other. It feels good--companionable, not sexual.

“What do you do?” asks Hannibal, settling his forearms on either side of Will’s head. “Where do you touch yourself when you take your pleasure?”

It’s difficult to think like this, when Will is blanketed by Hannibal, utterly pinned--even wiggling is a challenge, and he loves it. Even when he isn’t actively Feeding, Hannibal’s always drawing sustenance from Will when they touch. His skin feels like it’s covered in a fine sheen of static. “My neck,” Will replies. “I like to feel all the places you’ve bruised and healed the night before. Sometimes I pretend the bruises are still there.”

“I could leave them for you,” he offers, biting sharply just under Will’s ear. “Where else?”

“My chest. Scratching, pinch-- _ mmm.” _ Will turns his head to the side to give Hannibal greater access to his neck. “Kind like the way your hair feels against it now. Against my nipples, anyway. Tickles a little, but a good tickle.” All Hannibal’s doing is kissing his neck, slowly up and slowly down. It’s soothing, and warm, and unbearably tender. “You’re stronger than me,” he observes.

“Am I?”

“You know you are. But you get moreso.”

“Do you like that?”

Will remembers that he still has control of his arms, that he can touch Hannibal in return. He runs his hands through Hannibal’s hair; it’s gotten longer during their time here, even though Hannibal ventures into civilization fairly often for supplies. Will suspects that Hannibal has correctly surmised how much Will enjoys it, or maybe Will told him during a Feeding and he doesn’t recall. But Hannibal seems to prefer the new length, whether it’s due to Will’s fingers being drawn to it constantly or simply because he’s free to wear his hair long if he chooses to do so.

Hannibal bites Will’s ear, making him hiss. “Have I lost you already, dearest?”

“Only to my own mind. And yes, I do like that. I didn’t think I would, but it’s nice, being moved around by you."

“I believe the term is ‘manhandling’.” Hannibal pushes himself back up, smiling down at Will wickedly. “A request, if I may.”

“If you must,” but Will is smiling back.

“I want to feed from you as you come,” and, okay, Will is incredibly on board with that. They rearrange themselves so that they’re spooning--

“Like silverware in a chest?” Hannibal asked when Will brought up the term for the first time. Will linked their fingers together over his ribs, brought Hannibal’s palm over his own heart and pressed it there so that he could feel it beating.

“Or cutlery in a kitchen drawer.”

“I much prefer the former to the latter.”

Will laughed. “It could be sporks in a Tupperware box,” he said, then laughed harder at Hannibal’s full-body shudder.

\--and Hannibal’s hand is over Will’s heart now, too, though Will’s own fingers are wrapped around his cock, pulling himself to full hardness. He’d offered to get up and fetch the lube from the bathroom, but Will didn’t want Hannibal to leave, so dry it would have to be. It’s probably the only reason Hannibal isn’t telling him to slow down and take his time, though Will’s certain he’d prefer for him to.

Against his better judgment, Will asks him. “Too fast?”

“No. I am impatient, as well,” says Hannibal before biting into Will’s shoulder with such unrestrained ferocity that Will thinks he might be bleeding. It makes his breath stutter. He knows Hannibal will only play so far into the vampire fantasy--though Will thinks he might slowly be converting him--but the thought that Hannibal might lose himself enough to take an actual bite--

“Oh _ God.”  _ Hannibal laves his tongue over the wounds, and Will outright  _ whines _ as he feels the skin and muscle knitting itself back together. His balls draw up tight, and he squeezes the base of his cock with entirely more force than necessary. “That--that might be a thing.”

“Considering your strange fascination with vampires, I assume that--”

“You could really, actually eat me.” Hannibal kisses along his shoulder before biting down again with no warning, and Will is so aroused that he’s shaking. “Shit, Hannibal, I’m gonna come.” He doesn’t answer, only sinks his teeth into Will’s flesh even more deeply, growling and snarling like the beast he is. The hand on Will’s chest moves to Will’s nipple, and Hannibal runs the pad of one finger around the hardened nub, circles it gently, and it’s like having two completely different people working him over.

When Will comes, Hannibal unlatches from the wound and begins to suck at the pulse point on Will’s throat. His hand fills with his own cum and he relaxes back into Hannibal, out of breath, slightly sweaty. His shoulder’s healing as Hannibal Feeds from him, though Will can still smell his own blood. The afterglow doesn’t feel any different from when he isn’t being Fed upon, though it does seem to last longer. So far, Will doesn’t feel as though Hannibal is Feeding, at all.

Hannibal breaks away with a sigh, then scents Will’s hair. “You are delicious always,” he says, placing a kiss behind his ear, “but that was sublime.” He’s still playing with Will’s nipple, absentmindedly, as if Hannibal doesn’t realize where his hand is. Will thinks back to the first night Hannibal Fed from him, the way Hannibal had become somewhat drunk.

It’s a heady feeling, knowing that not only does Hannibal feel he can lose control around him, but that Will is also the  _ cause _ of Hannibal doing so.

“You would eat me, wouldn’t you?” asks Will as Hannibal tries to pull him back to lie with him on the mattress. “Wait, wait, I managed to save--”

“Yes,” says Hannibal, “I know; I can smell it, and you are truly a gem among stones.”

“It’s getting kind of tacky.” They ease themselves up, though the last thing Will really wants to do is move now that he’s all post-orgasm limp and warm. Hannibal reaches over and takes Will’s hand. Staring into Will’s eyes, Hannibal lifts it to his mouth, and licks up every drop.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Thank you, Will.” Hannibal doesn’t let go of Will’s hand, pulling it and encouraging Will to sit in his lap, straddling his legs. “To answer your question, I would. The better question, I believe, is whether you would like for me to do so.”

“Maybe we could talk about cannibalizing me later?” Will’s feeling uncomfortably hot just thinking about it, which unsettles him, makes him nervous and twitchy. The afterglow is gone, and all of his muscles are tense, and he can’t look anywhere but his own hands.

“Will.”

“Don’t--I can’t look at you right now, don’t make me--”

Hannibal shifts Will in his lap, guides his head down to lie on his shoulder so he can press kisses to Will’s temple, his cheek, his ear. “I take your lead, remember?” Will nods tightly into his neck; it’s absurd, that he feels safe here with the killer who just confirmed that he would eat him. One of Hannibal’s arms is wrapped protectively around him, the hand of the other stroking his hair. “I will never hurt you beyond what I can heal, dear boy. You must trust me.”

Will swallows, and nods again. “I do. It’s me I don’t trust. Not right now, anyway. I think I’d let you take anything. Everything.”

“I would miss you too much,” Hannibal says. “Now that I have you, I will let nothing take you from me. Not even myself.” He traces Will’s lips with one finger, and Will gasps slightly at the realization that Hannibal is Feeding from him. His mouth goes numb, and then his cheeks, a creeping coolness that works its way through his head and down into his spine.

“What are you doing to me?” He uses Hannibal’s other shoulder as leverage to pull himself up; Hannibal never removes his finger, continuing to trace his lips lazily.

“Showing you how you taste,” says Hannibal. “Like a cold stream at the end of winter, all melted ice and snow. Clean and pure. Unblemished. Untouched.”

Will’s eyes grow wet. It’s too much, and not enough, and he wants more. “I didn’t know you could share.”

Hannibal chuckles and says, “Neither did I.”

Goosebumps begin to prickle up and down Will’s body as the cold keeps dripping along his nerves. He feels like he’s freezing. “Warm,” he says through chattering teeth. “Warm, make me warm.”

“Can you tilt your head back for me, love?” Will does, puts his head back to rest in Hannibal’s waiting hand, and then Hannibal’s mouth is kissing hot and wet along Will’s throat.

He cries out as fire goes rushing through his veins, chasing out the chill. Hannibal’s arms support him as Will slumps, surrendering to the onslaught as Hannibal begins to draw energy out through his spine simultaneously, fingertips stroking lightly. He moves from Will’s throat down to his collarbones; his tongue licks flame into Will’s suprasternal notch. It’s intimate in a way sex could never be, an emotional arousal, a symbiotic relationship like no other. The Feeding is a rush, like wildfire in a dry field, and Will grins, wide and wily, thinking about the rest of the week.

Hannibal bites at a nipple, sucks it into his mouth, Feeds from it, and Will giggles.

“What strikes your humor?” asks Hannibal.

“Just…” Will’s body shakes with silent laughter--as much as it is able, at least. The warmth is crawling under his skin, an invisible, internal bondage. “Breastfeeding,” he manages.

Hannibal gives the nub a parting lick. “Is this really so different?”

“Don’t read too much into it. Sometimes the cigar is just a cigar, Hannibal.” Will’s brain is finally starting to feel fuzzy; he’s going to lose higher cognition soon, become suggestible and pliant. “I’m drifting under.”

Hannibal shifts them and oh, Will’s limbs are heavy already. Now that the Feeding has started, Will is succumbing quickly. It makes him a little panicky, not having judged his time correctly. “Calm, Will,” says Hannibal, laying him down in the pillows, propped up, arranging Will’s hands over his stomach. “I’ve already Fed from you several times before now. It’s alright. I have you.”

“Hold,” Will croaks out. “Touch.”

“Quiet, darling; hush now.” Hannibal sits back against the pillows himself before pulling Will to lie against his chest, between his legs. One hand crosses over Will’s neck to take hold of his chin and tilt his head; the other runs down Will’s chest, down his stomach, down to his spent cock. Hannibal holds him in his hand--not teasing or titillating or coaxing or rolling, only to hold, like Will wanted so badly. “Good?”

“Mmhmm.” Will closes his eyes and extends his neck. Hannibal lowers his mouth and Feeds, and Will floats away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part four starts tomorrow! <3

**Author's Note:**

> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
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> 
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